She was the girl who was afraid of love. Terrified of it. It isn't permanent, she believed, it leaves you and it leaves you broken.
He was the boy who desperately needed it. Love--the only thing that could've rooted him to this world.
Ophelia and...
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THREE MONTHS LATER
"I don't know what you want me to do about this." I deadpanned, looking down at my polaroid camera.
Nora rolled her eyes up at the ceiling, before rolling over my bed to face me. It was a bit odd, even after three whole months, to see her being so normal with me. Like the old Nora.
It was still a little hard to get used to this.
"We're gonna take out all your polaroids and spice up your room." She replied. "Was that so fucking hard to figure out?"
"Don't use that snarky tone on me when you're inside my own room," I told her before sitting down cross-legged on my yellow shag rug, holding onto my camera.
She ignored me just like old times and kept staring up at my ceiling. Back when we became friends, somewhere during our primary school, Nora had told me that she loved the glow-in-the-dark stars that I had made Helen put up in our room.
And when I got my own bedroom, I stuck numerous of those same stars all around my ceiling too. They glowed brightly, especially at night when the moon basked its glow all around my room through the skylight I had right above my desk--something Dad agreed on since my room was at the top of the house.
Nora and I did the same in Nora's bedroom too.
I hadn't thought she would've kept it, after so many years of us being apart, but she had. I found that out when she had pulled me to her house after one tiring college day, much to my own surprise.
"Since when did we start making rules?" She inquired.
"I'm not answering that question since this is my own fucking bedroom."
"So you can be snarky and I can't?" She was looking at me now, raising an arched brow.
I sometimes really wished I had her dark brown curls, which fell down way below her shoulders, unlike my own unruly dark hair that reached just past my shoulders.
But then again, curls looked stunning on her. Curls on me? Meh. There was absolutely a good reason why I was born with straight hair.
"That's the rule," I said.
"Wow, you make such shitty rules." She said, but nonetheless got up from my bed and sat down in front of me, her eyes fixed on my camera. "So. The pics."
"I think the pictures are in my suitcase." I shrugged before pushing the camera away. "And I still haven't unpacked it."
It was a lie, not the unpacking part.
"They are not." She gave me a bad look. "You've got to stop doing that."
I glanced at her as she picked up my camera, and leaned back against the foot of my desk behind me, my fingers softly grazing the yellow fuzz below me.
